


syrup

by machi_kun



Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awkwardness, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Morning After, Stony Bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26149099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/machi_kun/pseuds/machi_kun
Summary: Tony is a playboy, and he’s good at it. He never leaves a partner unsatisfied, he never leaves a phone number – and he always leaves before breakfast.And then there’s this one guy. Steve.In the morning after, making pancakes before Tony can escape.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1866988
Comments: 13
Kudos: 257





	syrup

**Author's Note:**

> For my SteveTony bingo card, S-1, prompt: pancakes! ;)

“Hey.” Steve says, smiling. “Good morning.”

Tony, fully dressed and expertly sneaking out, stops before he can even close the bedroom door, head turning so quickly in the direction of the kitchen he almost pulls a muscle.

He looks to the side, where he remembers seeing a clock – yep, there it is, and it says 6:11 AM on it, which is unholy and vile, an hour no one should be awake at, much less a Saturday, and _yet_ , here is his one-night-stand, _by the stove, making breakfast._

Tony thought he was in the bathroom. He even left a note. The door was closed, and he thought he heard water running – _fuck_ , it’s _raining_ out, isn’t it?

Not that it matters now that he’s already been busted, but still.

It’s gonna be even more awkward now, waiting for a cab.

“Yeah, uh. Morning.” Tony replies, after a weird, awkward attempt to clear his throat. It feels horribly sore, and he’s not sure if it’s from the noises or the _other thing_ , but it’s probably both. A glass of water might help with that, but _coffee_ is always a distracting temptation. “You’re up early.”

Which is an _understatement_. But what other way can Tony convey the feeling of _why are you not conveniently unconscious so I can leave_ without sounding like a complete asshole?

“So are you.” Steve – and even if Tony wanted to forget his name he _couldn’t,_ because he said it a _lot_ last night, and _Steve_ is still _smiling_ , friendly, cute, and a little _smug,_ like he somehow _knows_ what Tony’s thinking. “I’ve always been an early riser. Usually I would be going for a run right now, but I didn’t want to leave you here by yourself.”

Maybe this would have been easier if he had.

“Thanks.” Tony rasps, walking a little closer but not sitting down anywhere, still holding his shoes, looking as out of place as an elephant in a rose field. Steve places the coffee pot back in the counter, close to Tony’s reach, next to a cute, yellow mug, with a tiny picture of a cat on it. It’s empty, and Tony really wishes it _wasn’t_ but he’s too unsettled to reach out and actually fill it for himself.

The silence stretches, only low crinkles of plastic and the muffled sound of traffic and – there it is, _rain_ , coming from outside the small window in Steve’s tiny, modest kitchen – act as the soundtrack for the world’s most suffocating breakfast ever.

“I made pancakes.” Steve says, after an unbearably long time, turning around with a plate _full_ of blueberry pancakes, dammit, Tony’s favorites.

Did he tell him that last night? He can’t remember. He might have.

Usually Tony wouldn’t have a problem with this, even if his partner for the night happened to catch him while he snuck out. This is not his first time. It’s not even his fifth, or his tenth. He’s had this encounter before, and to be fair, this is proving to be quite amicable compared to other possible reactions he’s experienced in the past; _Far_ preferable to being attacked with shoes, no doubt, but it _still_ feels way worse than all the other times.

Maybe it’s just because Steve isn’t his usual partner. There were no pulsing lights or thrumming bass or sweet drinks to set the mood, no darkness to disguise the truth in the flirty banter – the bar had been _awful_ , and Tony left not even forty minutes after arriving, once he spotted _Sunset Bain_ far too close to his own booth for his comfort. Steve was not there. No.

Steve was at the small, quaint little diner Tony found a couple blocks away after walking around aimlessly, tending to the costumers with far too much energy for the late hour, and he had _coffee_ and _snacks_ , and Tony never even hesitated.

Makes sense Tony would tell him about the pancakes. Tony has no idea what else he told Steve – he sat down, Steve _looked_ at him, and he had no idea what had happened next. It had been almost closing hours, Tony gathered by the almost empty café, but he and Steve seemed to be talking for _hours_. But it couldn’t have been that long, considering they still came back _here_ , and it’s barely six _now._ How – What the hell _happened?_ How did a simple stop by a diner turned into a freaking _date_ , and then into _sleeping together_ , so quickly, and he hadn’t even noticed?

And Steve had been so – so _nice._ Gorgeous, of course he’s gorgeous, but more than that; He smelled like orange and vanilla, from the pastries, he said, _ah_ , _that’s_ when Tony complained about the lack of blueberries. He remembers now.

“Too much?” Steve chuckles, interrupting his thoughts, and it’s got a shaky, uncertain tone to it, and it immediately turns Tony into an anxious, fumbling, not _suave at all_ mess.

“No, it’s—” He coughs. “It’s fine.”

Steve’s eyes narrow just a bit, and something teasing pulls at the edge of his smile, almost malicious. “That’s a little hard to believe, considering you were going to sneak out on me.”

“That’s – uh – hm.” He forces out a laugh. “It’s not personal, don’t worry. I just— I had a great night, don’t worry—”

“Oh, I’m not worried.” Steve’s eyes shine again with that spark of mirth, and Tony, running on barely any sleep and a rush of endorphins that has _yet_ to go away with how thoroughly they got it on when they finally made it to bed, has to shamefully admit that he goes a little hot at the sight. “I get it. Morning after, it’s awkward. Haven’t done this much, so I thought maybe the way to make it _less_ awkward would be breakfast?”

“That’s really nice of you.” Tony comments, and he completely means it. “Nicer than sneaking out, I guess.”

“Both have their benefits, I think.” Steve sways his head from side to side, trying to be placating. “Well. I’ve made them. You can have some if you like, but if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

See what he means? _Nice._ Steve’s nice.

Not everyone would react this _well._ This _calm._

“What would be _more_ awkward, if I stayed, or if I left?”

Steve unexpectedly _laughs._ “I don’t know. Is this your first time getting caught?”

“First time _sober_ – well, _not hangover_ , at least.” Tony admits, and he’s pleasantly surprised there’s no judgment, no derision in Steve’s tone when he assumes, correctly, that Tony _is_ an experienced runaway after one-night-stands. He’s just amused, like it’s ridiculous, and it _is._ It is ridiculous that they’re both so embarrassed now, when they were both _fully sober_ and _fully consenting_ to go home together last night.

And it can’t be because of the sex, because it had been _fantastic_.

So maybe it’s really just because this is… new. In some ways. New for Steve, as far as hook-ups go, and new for Tony as far as _incredibly sweet partners_ go.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He could leave.

But—

_Should he?_

_Does he want to?_

“Well, I did have a great night, Tony. Thanks.” Steve looks down for a second, sheepish, as if he’s not sure if he should be _thanking_ someone for sex, or for… whatever it was that happened between them last night, this weird pull that’s keeping Tony frozen in the spot and not sending him bolting through the door at the first chance he gets. “Maybe I won’t see you again, but at least I want you to know how much I enjoyed it.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Tony tells him.

“After last night?” Steve looks up at him from beneath his long, beautiful lashes, and Tony is caught _so off guard_ he feels his face heating up and _hopes_ Steve can’t see it. “I kinda think I do.”

“You repaid the favor quite nicely, mister” Tony flirts back, before he can think twice about it, feeling inexplicably amused by the sudden turn in Steve’s behavior – awkward, but still flirty? That’s… _good._ Very good, actually. It _feels_ a bit like an invitation, like Steve’s trying to figure out if he can get Tony to give up on leaving if he can seduce him back into bed. Tony doesn’t know why that doesn’t make him want to run. It usually would.

But Steve made him blueberry pancakes.

Steve’s nice. Steve’s… different.

Tony doesn’t want to leave before he can figure out how.

“Well… I could have some breakfast.” Tony decides.

Steve’s smile is adorable, soft and sweet at the edges, just like the pastry he’d given Tony last night, just like his kisses – and Tony wonders if it would be just as sweet in the morning.

“And then later, I could have your number?” Steve asks, bold, and the shock of it is softened by the sweet smell of pancakes, the richness of the coffee Steve pours into the little cat mug, the sound of rain falling outside, the almost painfully domestic atmosphere of this cute kitchen in a lazy Saturday morning.

Steve sits across from him, fork in hand, decided to share the meal it seems – and Tony remembers last night, when both of them shared the last slice of the key lime pie the diner had for sale, leaning over the counter to be closer, like teenagers in love sharing sips from a milkshake, talking about _motorcycles_ of all things, and he doesn’t know how something so simple can be so endearing, but it _is._

Tony’s stomach does a flip, and just for now, he pretends it’s from hunger.

“Yes, Steve.” Tony rolls his eyes, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. “As soon as we’re done with breakfast.”

Pancakes now.

Maybe that’ll make Steve’s mouth taste even sweeter later.


End file.
